


Nine grams

by embeer2004



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Caring, Eskel!Whump, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Medical Restraints, Overdose side effects, Protectiveness, Rescue, Sedation, Whump, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23946235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: Eskel is injured in a fight and taken to St. Lebioda’s hospital. Letho finds him there and, seeing the way he’s being treated, decides to take matters into his own hands.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 95





	Nine grams

“ _Plea-se._ Won’… Won’… do… ‘gain…” The voice, though it still has a rough quality to it like the barking of a dog, sounds weak and fragile, and it’s coming from behind one of the closed doors.  
  
Seems the stories were true, then.  
  
Determined, Letho stalks towards the right door and sharpens his focus, and he learns that there are only three people in the room. Mentally preparing himself to cast quen and dive into action, though knowing these type of people he shouldn’t need it, not here, he gives the door a quiet push.   
  
The first thing he sees after stepping over the threshold is Eskel; deathly pale except for a flush over his cheeks, and looking delirious. He’s sluggishly struggling against the straps tying him to the bed, chest heaving as he gasps for breath. Clearly weaker than a new born kitten, and whimpering like one just the same.  
  
“Nurse, administer the sedative,” a doctor clad in a full-on plague outfit orders.  
  
Letho can see the way Eskel’s chest suddenly stops moving, and the gleam of distress settling in his wide open eyes.  
  
“Give him that sedative and I’ll break your limbs,” Letho warns, stalking closer. He knows people are intimidated by his size and right now he’s making full use of that as he puts on a menacing look. Fury and rage are broiling within him, waiting to spew over, and the humans before him can thank their precious Lebioda that he won’t attack them. At least, not yet.  
  
The concern he has for Eskel stays his hand. Eskel’s the priority here.  
  
Being a witcher himself, Letho’s very aware of the way potions can make one’s skin turn all kinds of unhealthy shades. The pallor of Eskel’s skin, his sunken cheeks, the way his body is faintly trembling, and the sour smell of acid all speak of poisoning. There’s a sweeter scent as well, intermingled with a nastier smell of medicinal poultices, and Letho can already spot one bandage wrapped around Eskel’s left arm.  
  
The doctor turns to him, face hidden behind the mask. “You can’t be here! Visiting hours are over and in addition to that, this is the restricted wing.”  
  
Letho glares menacingly at the man and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t speak; lets his eyes roam over the leather-clad figure, taking in all the weak spots and wondering whether the man’s a magic user. Not that it makes a difference in how he’s going to deal with the situation. _Always suspect more._ To this day, that is one of the most useful lessons the trainers of Gorthur Gvaed taught him.  
  
He walks up to the two humans, and all it takes is him narrowing his eyes for them to step aside and let him through. He keeps all his senses focused on them as he passes, prepared in case they try anything stupid, before turning around, acting calm and controlled.  
  
The nurse is wearing a leather apron over her dress, and her face is partially covered by a half-mask, so Letho can see the way her eyes flit to the two swords on his back. She slithers to the foot of the crappy bed Eskel’s tied down on and fiddles with the lipped bowl she’s holding. “You’re one of his kind.” As opposed to the many times Letho’s heard those words before, there’s no scorn or fright in them, though the nurse does glance warily at him.  
  
“Hnngg _…_ ” Eskel groans, and he starts muttering something under his breath, but it’s too soft for even Letho to make out. He doesn’t seem aware of what’s going on, and he’s started blinking repeatedly, twitching and inhaling sharply whenever his eyes stay closed for a second.  
  
Letho clenches his jaw and jerks his chin towards the bed, shooting an accusing glare towards the doctor and the nurse before bending over one of the restraints. The moment he touches the leather cuff the doctor takes a step towards him and holds up a hand.  
  
“Don’t! I know it looks bad, but you have to understand: we are protecting him from himself. He’s been in a delirious state for _days_ ; doesn’t know what he’s doing. One of the night nurses found him wandering the apothecary lab, going through the cabinets while one of the tables with distillation equipment was _on fire_. From the evidence, he destroyed a batch of medical alcohol and some of our batches of fresh honeysuckle, and he gave himself a nasty burn during his little misadventure.” The doctor points towards Eskel’s bandaged arm.  
  
Letho has to breathe in deeply to prevent himself from committing a murder; hearing Eskel’s near silent whimpering doesn’t help.  
  
Eskel’s wearing a dirty nightshirt, and the material’s wet around the collar and clings to his skin. His medallion’s missing. He’s shivering, yet there’s only a light blanket covering the lower half of his body. There are leather cuffs around his wrists, and Letho can see how they are connected to a larger belt that’s circling the mattress, disappearing beneath Eskel’s body.  
  
Eskel’s forehead is beaded with sweat and Letho can actually hear his teeth chatter as Eskel sluggishly rolls his head and forces his eyes open widely, though they return to their half-lidded state immediately after. “ _Pleaa-sss_ …” His voice is nearly nothing more than a whispered grunt, and that is _pain_ on the man’s face. Eskel’s eyes are watery, glazed, and his pupils are so large there’s barely a ring of gold left of his irises. He’s clearly having difficulty focusing, going by the squinting and the way he keeps blinking his eyes, staring dully in Letho’s direction.  
  
“You’re safe now,” Letho tells him, sitting himself down on the mattress near Eskel’s head and touching the back of his right hand against the man’s forehead. The skin is hot to the touch, and Letho just confirmed Eskel’s fever for himself. Not good. That at least explained the lowered blanket.  
  
Turning his hand, he lays his palm across Eskel’s forehead and gently brushes his fingers through the sweat-soaked hair. “Save your strength. Going to get you out of here…” He keeps up petting Eskel while his left hand moves down towards the nearest cuff. The pungent aroma of woodruff, lily and brooklime coming from underneath Eskel’s bandaged arm stings his nose, and the rotten stench of a comfrey poultice emanates from somewhere beneath his shirt. Letho forces himself to ignore the smells.  
  
“Doctor.” The nurse’s voice is high-pitched and sounds full of disapproval.  
  
“You should let us do our job,” the doctor tells him in a haughty tone. “Your colleague is suffering from severe injuries. He needs medicine and quiet in order to recover.”  
  
Eskel flinches when the doctor speaks and he lets out a small squeak as he shifts, turning his head and pressing up into Letho’s touch. His glinting eyes meet Letho’s own for only a moment before they lose their focus, but Letho’s sure Eskel recognised him.  
  
Eskel’s tongue comes out to lick his scarred lips, and Letho can see him trying to speak when he’s overtaken by violent spasms. He coughs, feebly jerking in his restraints, and his breath reeks foul and sour. “ _Nnnee-d… dedd_ …” he slurs with difficulty, barely louder than a breath and definitely too soft for the humans to hear. Then he closes his eyes and falls silent, his chest moving tensely up and down.  
  
Letho lets his right hand slide down towards Eskel’s unscarred cheek, and a warm fondness whirls through his chest as Eskel nuzzles into his hand, though the feeling’s overshadowed by worry and anger at the situation. “What’s that, wolf?” He asks, carefully grasping Eskel’s cuffed hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze.  
  
“ _Go… 'ome,”_ Eskel whispers hoarsely, wincing.  
  
Running the pad of his thumb lightly over Eskel’s cheek, Letho sighs glumly. “Kaer Morhen's a long way from here.”  
  
Eskel frowns and opens his eyes, turning his head up with several uncoordinated lurches, trying to meet Letho’s gaze. He looks so confused and forlorn that it breaks something in Letho’s chest, makes him feel like he’s been gutted.  
  
“Sssaw… m’room?… ‘n… _lab_ …” Tears spill down Eskel’s cheeks as he shifts, his captured hand twitching in Letho’s grip.  
  
The lab.  
  
Honeysuckle and alcohol.  
  
_Ah.  
_  
“Kno-w… _nnow…_ W-wasn’… real. Tol’ 'em… woul’n…” Eskel trails off, his face scrunched up with pain. That’s the most he’s managed to string together since Letho entered the room, and the effort’s clearly cost him.  
  
Letho knows that speaking is painful for Eskel even on a good day, and right now it’s certainly _not_ a good day. There’s no trace left of the mask Eskel usually wears, and Letho’s floored by the emotions he sees flitting across the man’s face. Ice cold fury rages through him then, and he thinks back on the first words he heard Eskel speak when he entered the room. _I won’t do it again_ , he’d been telling his captors, begging them to listen.  
  
Sparing the doctor only one warning look, discouraging him from interfering, Letho carefully slips his hand out from underneath Eskel’s cheek and moves it down to the leather cuff. He reaches for the buckle and has to use both hands to undo the additional safety latch, but then Eskel’s wrist is free and Letho leans over him to free his right side.  
  
Oh, but how badly he wants to just _shred_ the leather bindings; to rip them from Eskel’s wrists.  
  
But he can’t. Not without injuring Eskel.  
  
Eskel doesn’t react when his wrists are finally free. He just lies in the bed, looking drained and trembling faintly. He looks small and fragile, nothing at all like the fierce and sturdy warrior Letho knows him to be.  
  
Eskel’s breathing shudders as Letho pushes down the blanket, revealing the entire length of the nightshirt that had been put on him; it trails all the way to his calves, and there, around his ankles, are the restraints Letho had already suspected.  
  
He did not, however, expect to see insectoid bite marks on the man’s legs, but as he’s undoing the special latches on the ankle cuffs he gets a good look at them and it all starts to make _sense_ now.  
  
“Get out,” he snarls, already moving his hands towards the nightshirt and pushing it up, revealing bandages wrapped around Eskel’s right thigh.  
  
The nurse nearly runs out of the room.  
  
Letho lifts the shirt up a bit more, spying the bandages wrapped around Eskel’s waist.   
  
The doctor’s still there, holding his hands up in placation. “He’s under my care, you are endangering his health by removing the security restraints.”  
  
“Do you even know his name?” Letho asks peevishly, running his fingers lightly over Eskel’s ribs in an effort to establish whether he’s got broken ribs. Not feeling any obvious fractures, Letho settles himself down on the bed and carefully lifts Eskel into his arms, propping him up against his own body and guiding the man’s head to his shoulder. Eskel may have had the strength to be up and about a few days ago, but with the way his body is currently doing an impression of a beached jellyfish shuddering in its death throes he forms no danger to anyone.  
  
Eskel’s head lolls on Letho’s shoulder, and his hands lay loosely curled at his sides, twitching with every other breath.  
  
Letho scowls at the doctor, whose non-reply was answer enough. “The sedative. What did you drug him with? Quick, man!”  
  
“Black henbane,” the doctor immediately replies, crossing his arms over chest, the tip of his beaked mask pointing downwards, “but his last dose was three hours ago.”  
  
“How much?” Henbane is sometimes used as a sedative, true, and it has analgesic properties as well, but Letho knows that it is difficult to mete out the right dosage. He’s once used the leaves and herbage, adding them to his white gull as an experiment, but he’d ended up creating black seagull instead and experienced wild hallucinations and nasty side effects for _days_. The side effects could’ve ended so much sooner if he’d thought to craft some white honey, but his mind had been _so_ messed up. The experience did teach him to keep a vial of the cleansing potion on him at all times.   
  
“Three grams is the standard dose, the one he received when he first arrived. However, after the incident in the lab I’ve steadily increased the amount, trying to find the right dosage for him to calm down so he can get some healing rest. His last dose, seeing as you interrupted us, was nine grams, and we’ve nearly found the right quantity to administer.”  
  
_Nine grams. Too much._ And this idiot was going to administer an even higher dose.  
  
Letho’s lips thin as he retrieves a vial from his belt and pops the cork. “Careless, doctor.” He looks down towards Eskel and supports the back of his head before bringing the vial to his lips. “White honey,” he tells him softly, seeing those lips part slightly in response. He tips the potion into Eskel’s mouth and tilts his head a bit to the left, knowing Eskel has more control on that side and making it easier for him to swallow the potion.  
  
The doctor takes a step forwards, but Letho’s threatening look stops him in his tracks. “What are you giving him?”  
  
Letho strokes over Eskel’s throat, avoiding the scarred side; lightly, repeatedly, encouraging Eskel’s swallowing reflex to help him along a bit. He keeps his voice calm as he finally replies, holding back from lashing out at the doctor. “The one potion that can quickly cleanse him of the kikimore venom.”   
  
“Kikimore?” The doctor sounds surprised. “No, you are mistaken. Meis brought him to us, promising to foot the bill since the witcher had gotten injured killing the arachasae in the swamp.”  
  
Satisfied that Eskel has ingested a sufficient amount of white honey, Letho corks the vial and returns it to its usual spot on his belt. “There you go, wolf. You just rest now, I’ll handle this.”  
  
“Hnnn…” Eskel moans quietly, and though his eyes blink heavily and he’s clearly exhausted, he forces his lids open every single time.   
  
Letho points a finger towards Eskel’s legs and looks up at the doctor. “Looks nothing like an arachas bite, these were definitely made by kikimores, workers from the looks of it. Fact that he’s here proves he’s fought them off. Killed a good bunch of them, more as like, knowing him.”  
  
Walking to the foot of the bed, the doctor shakes his head. “These are clearly the marks made by an arachas, his other injuries confirm it.”  
  
Letho stares at the doctor before deciding he’s reached the end of his patience with the man.   
  
There’s a small shift against his chest, and Letho looks at Eskel, who seems to be having more and more difficulty opening his eyes again after each blink.   
  
Forcing himself to stay calm, Letho draws a triangle in the air and pushes the axii towards the doctor. “Bring me his clothes and his belongings, _all of them_ ,” he says calmly, keeping his voice soft for Eskel’s sake. “Add bandages and salve for his burn as well, while you’re at it.”  
  
The doctor scurries off.  
  
“Nearly out,” Letho tells Eskel, hugging the man to his chest as tightly as he dares. “Guy living close by owes me a favour, time to cash in on it.” It’s been a while since he’s been in Vizima, but now that Nilfgaard’s won no place is safe for him, and he’s gotten quite good at hiding out in plain sight, despite his large bulk. St. Lebioda’s hospital is in the Temple Quarter, not too far from Trick’s headquarters, and it is night, so Letho’s pretty sure they’ll not draw too much attention, even with him carrying Eskel.  
  
Before long, the doctor comes back into the room, carrying a large package under one arm and holding Eskel’s satchel and his swords up in his other. He fumbles with the swords and nearly drops them, causing the hilts to bang together with a loud clang.  
  
Eskel jerks up, startled by the noise, and when he senses the doctor’s close proximity he burrows his face against Letho’s chest, breathing heavily.  
  
“Lay them on the bed,” Letho orders, recasting his axii while with his other hand he’s rubbing Eskel’s arm up and down, trying to soothe the nervous witcher. “You’ve discharged your patient into the care of a colleague in medicine. Go now, finish your rounds. Do _not_ return to this room before morn, and be quiet on your way out.” He’s tempted to ask the doctor to remove his mask, just so he can memorise his face, but it would be pointless. Methods notwithstanding, the man tried to help, and it would only be petty of Letho to mess with the protective gear he’d put on. Not that the gear actually protects _his patients_ as he goes from one contagious case to another…  
  
Letho’s long given up on trying to change current practices.  
  
The doctor leaves the room, and the door shuts with a quiet click.  
  
“Eskel? Wolf?” Letho gives Eskel’s arm another soothing rub, or at least he hopes that’s how it’s received. “Time to go, partner.”  
  
“Hhh,” Eskel sighs, finally starting to relax now that it’s just the two of them.  
  
Letho carefully lays Eskel down and moves to the foot of the bed, glancing at the man’s belongings. Not seeing the wolf medallion, he opens the larger package, and there it is, nestled on top of the neatly folded wolf armour.  
  
A witcher without his medallion is like a whore without a pimp, so Letho quickly returns the amulet where it belongs. Immediately, Eskel struggles to lift a hand towards it, but he manages and touches the ridges of the wolf’s head with trembling fingers. Some of the tense lines on his face soften.  
  
Letho wishes he can give him something for his pain, but anything he’ll give him right now will be nullified by the white honey. The potion’s critical at this stage, ridding Eskel’s body of the toxins and the ill effects of the henbane that have wrecked havoc on his body for way too long.  
  
Hot milk with crushed celandine petals, though, that might send him off to a good sleep once they’re at Trick’s place.  
  
It doesn’t take Letho long to repack Eskel’s gear; all in one neatly tied bundle that he can put on his back so his arms are free to carry Eskel.  
  
He doesn’t bother changing Eskel into any of his clothes; the moment they’re at Trick’s he’s going to give the man a good washing. Eskel will be able to sleep better once he’s not smelling all rank from sweat and mushed comfrey. And that nightshirt will end up a burnt pile of ashes.  
  
Letho spots a woollen blanket lying on top of a cabinet and drags it down, rubbing the thick material between two fingers.  
  
Returning to Eskel’s side, he puts an arm behind his shoulders and lifts him up, making Eskel lean against him as he wraps the blanket around his back. He then gently manhandles Eskel, moving him this way and that until he’s wrapped up in the blanket the best he can be. Letho makes sure not to trap his arms too tightly within the material, allowing Eskel to shift about if he has the strength for it. By the time he’s finished wrapping Eskel, the witcher’s head and bare feet are the only parts not covered by the heavy material. It’ll do.  
  
Eskel’s frowning in confusion and he looks like he’s thinking hard on something, but then he shifts within the blanket and his brow unfurrows as his eyes sluggishly meet Letho’s own.  
  
“All right, let’s go,” Letho tells him, strapping the bundle with all the gear to his own back before lifting Eskel up into his arms.  
  
The moment they’re out under the night sky, Letho breathes in deeply, relishing in the clean air and the scent of berbercane fruit coming from the hospital’s garden. The night’s temperature is actually quite pleasant.  
  
He can feel Eskel shivering against him, but the man doesn’t curl up into him as Letho expected, instead he tilts his head back and looks up at the sky. Letho wonders if he can see the stars more clearly now, with his pupils as large as they are, or whether everything’s a drugged haze for him still.  
  
He starts walking.  
  
The streets are quiet this time of night, and Letho quickly enters the slums, where there are always some people milling about. They don’t spare him a second look though, too busy fighting off a fleder that’s drawn to the light of their fire and the warm bodies surrounding it. Letho doesn’t care to help them, right now he _can’t_ ; besides, from the excited whooping going on they’re enjoying the challenge.  
  
Two bald bouncers stand in front of Trick’s place, dressed in the same orange and red outfits with a red bandana wrapped around the lower parts of their faces. Letho hasn’t seen them before, but he knows Trick’s style and these are definitely his men.  
  
Walking up to them, one of the bouncers gives him the shifty eyes. “Are you lost?”  
  
“Tell Ramsmeat the viper’s come to cash in his favour,” Letho tells them, acting like it is the most natural thing in the world to be carrying a half-conscious man in his arms.  
  
“Some nerve, showing up unannounced in the dead of night. Scram!” The other bouncer sneers.  
  
Letho sighs; he’s going to have to deal with these idiots. His fingers already itch to draw a pattern in the air; hidden beneath Eskel’s knees, these men won’t even see it coming.  
  
Eskel shivers and rolls his head out from beneath Letho’s chin, where Letho had tucked it away when Eskel started looking a little green around the gills, and he’s trying to pinpoint the source of the new voices. Letho’s quick to adjust his hold on him and grips the man tighter, just in case.  
  
“Wait… that’s witcher Eskel, right?” The more or less politer one of the bouncers asks, seeing Eskel’s face. “Yeah, I recognise him. He took care of the basilisk that devoured Blanchette. Let him in, Marcus, he’s good folk. Opened up the sewers for us, he did, Ramsmeat and the boys owe him.”  
  
“All right, go in,” Marcus says stiffly, opening the door for him.  
  
Letho’s slightly mollified by the near-polite bouncer knowing Eskel and thinking favourably of him, and he spares him a nod as he steps through the doorway.  
  
He’s been in Trick’s headquarters several times, and it always surprises him how empty it is inside. There’s barely any furniture, except for a few chairs placed around a small fireplace along the far end wall, and a table and some crates right across from it. There are no trophies whatsoever, and the few torches on the wall cast only a faint light.  
  
As expected, Trick’s downstairs, dressed similar to the bouncers; his ever-present heavy club attached to his belt. Letho thinks he even sleeps with the thing, he’s never seen the leader of the underworld without it. There’s an eye patch over the man’s left eye, and an angry red scar mars the top of his bald head. He’s got bulging muscles, though nowhere near as big as Letho’s; still pretty darn impressive for a human though. And he’s an _honourable_ thug, and that’s something Letho respects.  
  
“Viper,” Trick’s low voice rumbles as the man stands up and walks towards him, “what brings you here?”  
  
Letho grins wryly and nods his chin towards Eskel. “According to your bouncers outside, you and your boys owe Eskel for dispatching a basilisk in the sewers. Not here to cash in on his favour though; cashing in my own.”  
  
There’s a twinkle in Trick’s eye and he takes a step to the side, trying to get a glimpse of Eskel’s face and looking all pleased when he does.  
  
Eskel’s blinking up at him, and he looks confused, but curious, and he calmly watches Trick watching him.  
  
“I heard of this cub’s growl, but it doesn’t look like he’s up for a bite anytime soon,” Trick tells him before turning serious and continuing in a quieter tone. “Your friend doesn’t look too good, viper. What do you need?”  
  
“A place to stay until he’s healed up enough to travel, some food and drink, and…” Letho raises an eyebrow and looks down to Eskel, who’s still staring curiously at Trick. “Right now, a pail of hot water, bath supplies and something warm and comfortable to wear for him would be appreciated. Oh, and hot milk…”  
  
Trick lifts an eyebrow as he mentions the hot milk and his eye flicks towards Eskel. “Sure thing, viper. Come on up.” He gestures for him to follow as he heads for the stairs, leading the way up to the first floor.  
  
The upstairs interior looks more like the home of a noble. There’s a large soft-looking bed pushed up against the left wall, an arm’s length distance from an unlit hearth, and tucked in between is a simple wooden nightstand. There’s a low stool in front of the hearth, and a table stands along the far wall, two ornate chairs surrounding it. There’s a decorative screen cordoning off an area along the right wall that Letho suspects to be the private section. There’s a cupboard behind the screen, and a large chest right next to it. The room feels a lot homelier than downstairs.  
  
Then again, this is an operational base, not a home. Letho knows Trick doesn’t sleep here, instead has a deal with the owner of the Hairy Bear inn and spends his sleeping hours there. This room is just a decoy.  
  
It will serve him and Eskel just fine, though.  
  
“Not exactly running an inn here, so you’ll have to make do with what’s here. The boys run into trouble sometimes, you know how it is; got some stuff lying about. Anything missing, you can pass on to the boys when dawn breaks; they’ll get it for you,” Trick says, doing a little twirl at the centre of the room with his hands held out in display. “Sure you can figure out where stuff is here, no secrets on this floor so feel free to look around. Clothes are in the chest. Food’s downstairs should you want some. I’ll order Angus to bring up some hot water and scrounge up some milk.”  
  
“Thank you.” Letho remembers to say as he watches Trick’s figure retreating down the stairs. He knows he shouldn’t be impressed that Jeremiah Trick is a man of his word and doesn’t hesitate the moment he showed up and asked for help, but he finds it ironic that the _good_ people hiring witchers so easily betray them to save some coin, and that the ones keeping their promises turn out to be the thugs of the underworld.  
  
Turning towards the bed, he carefully lays Eskel down on it, still wrapped in the blanket he’s taken from the hospital. The mattress indeed feels soft, and in addition to the light cover spread on top of it there’s a warm-looking quilt rolled up at the foot end that he can use as an extra layer. Perfect.  
  
Eskel’s nostrils flare as he’s scenting the new area, and his eyes flit about as he tries to take in the unfamiliar place.  
  
Letho lights the fireplace with a quick movement of his fingers before starting to remove the package he’d created of Eskel’s belongings from his back. He’ll wait until this Angus character has delivered the goods before taking off his own gear. He does unpack the additional items he’d ordered the doctor to provide him with and sets the fresh bandages and burn salve on the nightstand.  
  
Angus arrives not too long after. He’s a small man, whose pointed cap and light-coloured jacket are the most remarkable things about him. Letho wonders if he’s a runner or a spy as the man silently hands him a large mug containing the requested milk. Angus takes one look at Eskel before he nods his head and sets down the pail full of steaming water he’d been holding onto. He flits behind the private screen and comes back with a pewter basin which he places on the nightstand.  
  
Letho fiddles with the mug as he watches Angus go about the room, and he takes a sip of the milk, concluding that it is much too hot still for Eskel when he nearly burns his own tongue. He retrieves some celandine from the alchemy pouch strapped to his belt and crushes some petals before dropping them in the drink, then sets the mug down next to the bandages.  
  
Angus darts behind the screen again and starts rummaging around in the large cupboard, returning with two towels and a bar of soap and placing them next to the basin. The last thing he does for them is filling the basin with the hot water before leaving with just a silent nod of acknowledgement.  
  
There’s still steam coming from the pail Angus has left behind, and Letho notices that the container’s still half full.   
  
Certain they’ll not be disturbed for the remainder of the night, Letho finally allows himself to discard his own swords and he takes off his upper armour and shirt, throwing them on the table pushed up against the other wall. He detaches the two small satchels, containing his few meagre possessions and his alchemical ingredients, from his belt and adds them to the pile.  
  
Angus has been helpful in laying out the bath items, but there’s one thing Letho’s still wondering about, so he heads towards the chest behind the screen. After rummaging through it, he picks up a tunic with long sleeves and trousers that he can already tell are way too large for Eskel; the items will serve well as nightwear.  
  
Pleased with his findings, Letho returns to Eskel’s side and places the clothes on the low stool besides the bed.  
  
Eskel’s eyes are closed, but hearing Letho softly rustling nearby he opens them and turns his head to the side, blinking up at him.  
  
“Going to give you a quick wash and rinse,” Letho tells him, crouching down next to Eskel and smoothing the clammy hair back from his brow.  
  
Eskel breathes a sigh through his nose and swallows with some obvious difficulty before nodding. Letho’s not all too sure of him though; doesn’t want to risk Eskel lashing out as he’s cutting away the dirty nightshirt or the bandages underneath. The slow way it is… it will be a bit more of a hassle, but at least there’s no chance of accidentally nicking Eskel.  
  
“All right, work with me here,” he tells Eskel, sitting down on the bed and lifting the man up and leaning his upper body against him. From the way Eskel sags against Letho it’s obvious he’s too weak to hold himself up, and Letho resigns himself to having to do all the work. He tugs and pulls on the nightshirt while he carefully shifts Eskel around until the material passes over his hips. From there on it is easy to pull the shift over his head and gently guide it down his arms. Letho’s mindful of his left arm, the one bandaged from wrist to elbow.  
  
Keeping Eskel leaning up against him, Letho fiddles around with the knots of the bandage around his upper body. He’s determined to examine Eskel’s injuries himself and see if there’s anything else the doctor has missed. And he needs to know what they’re dealing with here.  
  
Removing the final knot, he places a steady hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, keeping him upright until Letho’s shifted around, facing him. Then he guides Eskel’s head to the crook of his neck and keeps an arm around the man’s shoulder as he tugs on the bandage around his waist and starts unwrapping it. Letho soon discovers the comfrey poultice, smeared thickly across the skin, and, carefully brushing it away, he winces at seeing the damage. There’s an angry looking cut, starting just above Eskel’s ribs on his right side and trailing down towards his navel, held closed by tidy stitches. The bruising around the area is intensive. At least the doctor was right in his assumption that this injury was caused by an arachas; an armoured arachas by the pattern of the bruising.  
  
Eskel’s shivering has lessened somewhat now that the fire in the hearth has had some time to warm the area, but Letho can still feel small tremors running through his body as he sets out on removing the bandage from around Eskel’s thigh.  
  
“Lll-e…’o?" Eskel slurs, his voice sounding like the faint grunt of an old and sickly dog.  
  
Taking his eyes away from the injury he’s just revealed, also covered in a rotten smelling poultice, Letho meets Eskel’s feverish eyes.   
  
Eskel winces as he moves his bandaged arm, more a flail really, reaching for Letho’s hand and missing him by a hand’s breadth.  
  
Letho immediately grasps the falling limb and scoots closer. "Yeah, wolf? "  
  
Eskel’s eyes drift towards the fire, and a grimace pulls on his scarred lips. “Di'n’…… _Wann’_ …” he forces out with some difficulty. Eskel’s eyes are wide and frantic as he tugs on Letho’s hand, and his breath hitches as his fingers curl around Letho’s. It reminds Letho too much of the scene he stumbled on in the hospital and he doesn’t like it one bit.  
  
“Hush now,” Letho tells him, brushing the fingers of his free hand through Eskel’s damp hair.  
  
Eskel exhales loudly, and he looks at him with wild eyes. “ _Ag-si…_ - _d’n,_ ” he tells him urgently, getting agitated.  
  
“I know.” Letho forces a smile for him, trying to look reassuring as he keeps up the light petting, hoping the touch will help Eskel ground himself.   
  
Rationally Letho knows the humans weren't punishing Eskel, but they'd treated him clinically and ignored his desperate pleas; decided drugging him senseless was the best approach. To be fair to the healers, Eskel _had_ set part of the lab on fire, and his mumbled mutters while still looking and acting all delirious are not something a sane human would or should accept at face value… but they could have at least _listened_ and treated him more kindly instead of drugging him to the gills.   
  
“Stay with me wolf,” Letho says softly, squeezing Eskel’s hand before gently disentangling himself from the weak hold.  
  
Grabbing one of the towels, he dunks it in the hot water and rubs the bar of soap over the fabric until he’s created a nice froth. Then he starts gently wiping Eskel’s face, his touch turning lighter when he reaches the mutilated side. He moves on: from Eskel’s neck to his chest, then down to Eskel’s arms, avoiding the bandage still covering the burn. Letho works methodically, and he’s careful not to agitate Eskel’s injuries as he moves the soapy towel towards Eskel’s belly and lower, continuing on to his legs, though he does dedicate himself to removing all traces of the nasty poultices.   
  
Eskel looks wrecked by the time Letho’s finished washing his body, but the difficult part, at least for Letho, is yet to come. He’s been trying to figure out how to deal with Eskel’s hair and even debated with himself to save that struggle for another day, when Eskel can sit up on his own and they can move this whole washing business over to the tub, but the dark hair is cold and clammy and must feel plain out nasty to Eskel. Letho knows if it were him he’d be grateful if someone could rid him of the smells he associates with hospitals and illness.  
  
Taking the other towel from the nightstand, Letho gently pats Eskel’s body dry with it before folding up the material and placing it beneath the man’s head.   
  
Wetting the soap in the still steaming basin, Letho rubs it between his hands and works up a good lather. Then he runs his hands through Eskel’s hair, cleaning it the best way he can with Eskel all limp beneath him. It’s an awkward experience at first, but once he’s gotten the hang of it the repetitive motions become strangely soothing.  
  
When it’s time to rinse out the soap from Eskel’s hair Letho’s trying to figure out the best way to go about it without making a mess of the bed. Eskel’s dozing, and trusting the man to keep on dozing for a bit longer, Letho walks behind the screen and looks around, spotting a small bowl. That’ll work. He grabs an extra towel from the cupboard while he’s at it before returning to the bed.  
  
Collecting some warm water with the bowl, Letho slowly pours it over Eskel’s hair to rinse out the suds. He has to repeat the move several times, and the towel underneath Eskel’s head is getting soaked, but then _finally_ the task is done.  
  
Lifting a nearly asleep Eskel into his arms, Letho pulls the damp hospital blanket from the bed and lets it crumple to the floor before depositing Eskel on the clean sheets he’s managed to keep dry throughout all of this.  
  
Making a quick trip to his own potions pouch, Letho retrieves his calendula and rosehip salve and brings it back with him, lightly rubbing it over Eskel’s stitched-up wounds.  
  
“Sorry friend,” he apologises quietly as Eskel mewls miserably when he lifts him back up again, clearly done with all the jostling. Letho sighs inwardly as he picks up a roll of bandage. This would be so much easier if he had another pair of hands to help him, but he doesn’t want to bring Trick into this, or worse, one of his goons. When he’s done swathing Eskel’s upper body, Letho grabs the tunic and fits it on him before laying him down flat on the bed and moving on to his legs. Soon, Eskel’s right thigh is bandaged as well and he’s wearing the large but soft pants.  
  
All the jarring has pulled Eskel away from the brink of sleep, and he’s wearily looking at Letho as he’s unwrapping the bandage around his forearm. The skin is red and inflamed, oozing clear fluid in some places, and there are large blisters just beneath his elbow. Adding on a fresh layer of the hospital salve Letho binds the arm back up.  
  
Sitting down on the bed, he raises Eskel’s upper body and scoots behind him. Then he picks up the mug with the infused milk, cooled down to an acceptable temperature, and brings it to Eskel’s lips. “This will help you sleep, wolf.”   
  
“Nnoo… sss… se-d… sssss…” Eskel slurs, rolling his head away from the mug Letho’s offering.  
  
Letho’s an idiot.  
  
“It’s just milk infused with celandine petals,” he explains, lowering the mug and pressing it into Eskel’s hand. “Can you smell that? No drugs, just a nice warm and relaxing drink…”  
  
Eskel sniffs and shakily lifts the mug. Letho helps him as Eskel slowly but surely brings the mug to his own lips and starts to drink. When Eskel pushes the mug away and turns his head, Letho lets him, even though there’s still more than half of the liquid remaining.  
  
Setting the drink back on nightstand, Letho rearranges Eskel until he’s lying down and pulls the light cover up to his shoulders, dragging the warm quilt up to his waist as well before walking around to the other side of the bed and scooting back on it.  
  
Sitting back against the headboard, Letho’s determined to keep watch for the next few hours. He’ll not sleep until he’s forced some superior swallow down Eskel’s throat. Now that the man’s not continuously crammed full with a hallucinogenic sedative and the white honey is doing its job, Letho’s pretty sure that Eskel won’t go wandering about, but the man’s fever is bound to get worse before it gets better and he needs to make sure Eskel doesn’t rip out his stitches should he start thrashing about.  
  
“You just rest now, wolf. I got you,” he says as he strokes through Eskel’s damp but clean hair, repeating the motion when he feels Eskel move into the touch.   
  
“Hnn,” Eskel hums, his eyes closed. Before long, his breathing turns slow and shallow.  
  
Satisfied that all is as well as it can be, Letho keeps up the soothing touch for just a while longer before moving his hand back to rest on his own leg; fingers touching the knives he’s strapped around his thigh.  
  
And so his watch begins…  
  
**The end  
**  



End file.
